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Agnos, Arkansas
About Jimmi Naylor

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Featured in "The Big Roundup," an anthology of the best of





Slowly he opened his eyes from surgery,
And patted his wife's hand.
His leg was broken and cast to the hip,
ICU was still in demand.

"Edith you were there with me, my sweet little wife,
When the cow hooked me last fall.
And you were there when the tractor turned over,
In fact, you saw it all.

It was you who bandaged my arm up,
When the chain saw made its assault.
And there when the hay baler ate my other arm,
Due to a mechanical default.

You were there when the dun horse bucked me off,
Blacked my eye and cut my head
And there when I dallied my finger up
Left it cut, swollen and red.

You were there when the handy man jack fell,
And my chest was crushed by the truck.
Now I've come to one final conclusion,
Edith, you're just bad luck."

Jimmi Naylor  
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

Reyes Clan

He found us in Texas, he came from Coahulla (Co-a-ya)
He looked old, aged and bent.
He spoke only Spanish, not one word of English,
He was sure out of his element.

But he mentioned "comeda" so we knew he was hungry.
So we fed this old mexican man.
Said,"Me llama, Juan Reyes, I come from Monclova,
Was part of the old Reyes Clan".

He was ragged and tattered, had been through hard times,
The lines in his face told it all.
Had once been a rancher, along with his family,
But bad times had brought him a fall.

Conditions in Mexico had taken its toll,
With the over throw of  government.
Much ranch land was claimed through corruption and greed,
Orders of the new management.

Once lived the life of a daring vaquero,
This aged, old mexican man.
"Me llama Juan Reyes, I come from Monclova
Was part of the old Reyes Clan."

They had ravished his country, his land and his home,
With killings and much violence.
His kin and his family had taken up arms
For protection and own self-defense.

They had killed his Maria, his sons and his daughter.
He'd spent years in a cold mexican jail.
When he was released there was nothing left for him,
So he left all the misery and hell.

I was only a kid when the old mexican found us.
He lived there on the ranch till he died.
He gave me advice that I took into manhood.
I spent many an hour at his side.

On arrival there was only one name that he asked for
It was the name of my grandmother.
For she too had been part of the old Reyes Clan,
And he was her only brother.

Once lived the life of a daring vaquero,
This aged, old mexican man.
"Me llama Juan Reyes, I come from Monclova
Was part of the old Reyes Clan."

Jimmi Naylor  
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


Sweet Thing

Looking through the Caller Times,
Ole Jim Bob by chance read.
The advice page by "Dear Abby,"
Absorbed every word she said.

She spoke of the perfect match,
Between man and his mate.
Common interest she did stress,
For the perfect syndicate.

Now, Jim Bob, had one interest,
His love of roping steers,
Had to find a gal who roped,
For marriage to persevere.

It wasn't long before he met
His perfect little gal.
She threw a real good heel loop
Became his trusted pal.

In time they marched down the isle,
Became they man and wife.
He didn't know the role she'd play,
This implant on his life.

But soon the honeymoon shut down,
And Jim Bob had the urge,
To pen his roping steers and rope,
When Sweet Thing did emerge.

"I think I'm going to rope with you,
So don't call Rick to heel.
The way he's been missing
He would only cost us bills."

"And anyway he always brings,
His case of Miller Lite.
That stuff will rot your liver,
I'll ice you down a Sprite."

"Put your snuff can on the post,
You sure don't need a dip.
I don't like the spray I get,
While riding at your hip."

"I don't load steers in the chute,
I sure don't strip no horns.
Daddy did all this for me,
From time that I was born."

The first steer she heeled him,
She cold trailed half the night.
Jim Bob kept yelling "now rope."
She'd yell back, "things ain't just right."

She wouldn't rope ole number five,
He did not pull real straight.
Came out ahead of number ten,
Turned him back at the gate.

"You didn't handle that steer right"
Was often her complaint.
"If you think I'm Camarillo,
Then think again I ain't."

Jim Bob went through years of life,
Of husband, wife, team work.
Never lost his cool one time,
He never went berserk.

But often wished for times that were,
When Rick would heel his steers.
To dip his snuff when e'er he pleased,
To drink just one cold beer.

He quietly got a plan in mind,
That would cause no remorse.
He went to a barrel futurity,
Bought a winning barrel horse.

Now Sweet Thing runs her barrel race,
And Jim Bob ropes his steers.
Their life a perfect marriage;
Has endured twenty years.

Jimmi Naylor  
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

About Jimmi Naylor

Jimmi Naylor is the wife of Cowboy Poet Wayne Naylor. Wayne performs at Cowboy Gatherings throughout Arkansas. Much of the poetry he performs is written by wife Jimmi. Growing up in the South Texas Brush Country both grew up on the hard knocks of cowboy life. Moving to Northern Arkansas in 1984, they call Agnos, AR home. Being an 8th grade teacher takes much of her time but she manages at times to heel a few steers for husband Wayne. They have published a collection of their cowboy poetry in a book Green Grass and Tank Water (email them for more information at

Wayne Naylor    1942-2000

Wayne Naylor had a massive heart attack and
passed away July 14, 2000.  He will be missed and loved.

See a tribute to Wayne Naylor and one of his poems here.

Never Forgotten



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